Gemotions

The air in the attic was thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Mark found the list nestled within a box of old photographs, a small, worn notebook he recognized as belonging to his wife, Carol. He felt as if gravity had increased tenfold.

“Travel the Silk Road.” “Learn to paint.” “Run a marathon.” Each entry seemed to echo with the dreams they had shared, and those she had, perhaps, kept private. He was leaning against a dusty trunk, his legs feeling weak.

He felt a profound exhaustion, an overwhelming desire to simply cease existing in this moment. The shadows in the attic seemed to deepen, and he felt his knees buckle. He lowered himself to the floor, resting his back against the cool wood.